


Auld Lang Syne

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Because of Auld Lang Syne's original meaning, Implied Future Michael/Amanda/Trevor, M/M, Multi, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, New Year's sex, lots of angst at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: Michael decides to throw the first party he has in ages because it's New Year's Eve since they actually have people to call friends now, but memories from years prior are threatening to ruin the here and now, especially with Trevor not willing to get past them.
Relationships: Amanda De Santa/Michael De Santa, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 17
Kudos: 19





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to go into Volume Two of the fanzine, I’ll admit. I think I told h-weber-exe that she and I had some similar ideas (which she can sort of see, but I didn’t flesh it out because this was so damn long, so I’ll just flesh it out for the fanzine ffs), but anyway, I had decided that since this was a New Year’s story anyway, I just wanted to share it with you all, so here it is. On the fucking second of January. But anyway!
> 
> This is based on the original ballad of Auld Lang Syne from 1711 (and possibly even earlier, as bits of it were collected to piecemeal into that).
> 
> Anyway, I hope y’all love this. I used bits of drunken Lester inspired from the audio that was removed from the final game because I love that Lester. :( It IS very long and NSFW towards the end, just a warning. Also, bits of angst because it does take from the meaning of Auld Lang Syne, but it ends...well, you just have to see, don’t you?

**Auld Lang Syne**

  
  


_Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,_

_and never thought upon;_

_The flames of Love extinguished,_

_and fully past and gone:_

_Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,_

_that loving Breast of thine;_

_That thou canst never once reflect_

_On old long syne._

_James Watson version - 1711_

It was the first time he could remember having all of his friends -- or at least most of the living ones -- along with his family around for New Year’s Eve, so they threw a party. Hell, it was the first time _he_ had insisted on throwing one in their house. Usually, Amanda was the one bitching about that sort of thing, and he never cared to get involved, but here the fuck he was rushing around like some party planning extraordinaire, shouting out orders and was ninety-five percent sure he was getting on everyone’s fucking nerves even if he didn’t care that much because he was enjoying himself. He wasn’t certain of the last time he’d had this much actual fun that didn’t revolve around guns, heists, blood, beating the shit out of someone, intimidation, or what constituted as making movies with Solomon. 

He’d even managed to get Lester out of the house -- always promise Lester copious amounts of alcohol and broads who don’t mind eggheads with only half of the use of their muscles sometimes -- and he’d formed a sort of peace with Amanda for the night to allow Trevor on the property which was still amazing in itself, but maybe not. She was going to be seven sheets to the wind before the countdown most likely anyway, so she probably didn’t give that much of a rat’s ass as long as Trevor didn’t destroy anything and left her alone. And left her reputation mostly intact with the neighbors. 

Getting Trevor out there was a different story altogether. 

“What makes you think I don’t have something going on? Why do you assume I don’t have any other friends asking me to their parties? I mean, Frank and Lamar could throw down the sickest party and call me up--”

“Franklin and Lamar are going to be here,” he deadpanned. “Do you ever listen to yourself? Jesus, Trevor. Your friends are my friends. Except for Sandy Shores, we run in the same crowds. We always have.”

“The guys here would be hurt to know that you think so lowly of them,” Trevor sniffed over the line. “And maybe we have something planned. Maybe we don’t need your bullshit Vinewood party. Or maybe we have business that needs--”

He could see where this was going. Trevor _wanted_ to go, but he didn’t want to leave his friends behind, and he was too prideful to just ask if he could bring them. Michael shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering briefly what the fuck he was getting himself into but hoped that in the spirit of things, he’d come out all right. “Bring your friends, T.”

The line was silent for a full two minutes, almost to the point that Michael had begun to think that the signal had been lost until finally, Trevor cleared his throat and stumbled over his words. “You, ah, you sure that the ol’ ball and chain, you know...will she be OK with that?”

“Probably not,” he mused thoughtfully, “but it isn’t her get-together, and I’ve got things under wraps.”

And those were famous last words. 

“His _psycho_ friends?? From _Sandy fucking Shores??_ _Seriously,_ Michael?!” She stormed around their bedroom with the same ferocity of a category three hurricane, only stopping to rip at her hair in frustration and stare him down. “How did you even arrive at that decision? Did you think to yourself, ‘Hmmm, one lunatic friend isn’t enough anymore?!’”

God, he knew he was above hitting women, but _goddamn_ , sometimes she really pushed his fucking buttons. She knew how to do it pretty well too, knew how to deliver the blow just right or glide the knife in just deep enough and twist so he just wanted to give up, but fuck this, he wasn’t backing down. If everyone was working on being happier, then so was he, and that meant that people had to put their differences aside for once and be OK with the shit that _made_ him happy. 

He took a deep, calming breath and sat on the bed observing her curiously. When she finally slowed her tirade to look at him in return, he began with, “You know I tolerated your family’s abuse an awful fucking lot even though to them, I was taking away their precious commodity, not an actual thinking, feeling human being because to your mom, you were the best out of your sisters. You listened and were obedient. You’re smart and could’ve run that damn business with your eyes closed. I was just some two-bit punk who put a wrench in their plans by getting you pregnant, and I’ve often wondered if I did the right thing by so many people, but I’d like to think that by getting you the fuck away from them, that it was something good. Because _they_ were lunatics.” He put his head in his hands. “Mandy, we’re not the best parents, I know, but Christ, we really _do_ love our kids. I know you don’t view Tracey the same way your mom saw you.”

Silence permeated the air, but after a minute, she fell beside him on the bed with a little plop. “I...no, we’re definitely not our parents.” She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Michael. Yeah, it’s fine. It’s one night of the year anyway. It won’t kill me.” She then gazed up at him with a strange look in her eyes that was half-humorous, half-sincere. “Right?”

“I promise I’ll try to keep them on a short leash, OK?” he coaxed as he put his arm around her and pulled her to him. She smelled vaguely of vanilla and peaches as he nuzzled her neck, enjoying how lightly she giggled and how much it felt like old times. 

But that was then, and now he was up to his eyeballs in caterers asking him where the fuck the little Swedish meatballs go, what vintages of what wine and champagne, did he prefer this cheese with this cracker, and Christ almighty, how the fuck had Amanda ever done this shit without wanting to shoot up the place? His left eye was already twitching involuntarily every couple of seconds. He tried rolling the tension out of his shoulders, but it just wasn’t doing any good.

A tap came at his right shoulder, then he felt his wife’s slight but strong hands kneading his muscles, and he felt like butter melting under her. “Do you want me to take this over so you can go sit down and relax?” she whispered in his ear. “It’s almost all set up, and you look like you’re itching to put a bullet in someone’s eye if they ask you where to place the olive bar next.”

  
“There’s more than just green and black??” Oh goddamn, this was a fucking nightmare straight out of Hell.

The sound of soft laughter came from behind him again, and a tumbler of his favorite whiskey was pushed toward his hands. “Yeah, that look is back. Just go relax. Greet your guests. Please keep some of them out of my hair. I don’t mind that new kid Franklin that much, but his friend is loud in the way that _I’m going to have a migraine if I’m around him too long_ kind of way, Lester was always a bit handsy when he got drunk, but I can tolerate it, and well, Dave is Dave. It’s like being around you.”

“I’m sure Dave will appreciate that, and Lester will be too busy with his hands elsewhere. I already have that covered. I have a feeling that Lamar and Franklin will be busy hanging around the kids more instead of us old folks. Especially Frank and Trace.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “And I know who the fuck to keep out of your hair when they get here.” He kissed her on the cheek and made his way toward a seat near the front door. 

The time on his watch clicked closer and closer to 7:30. The caterers had already finished and left through the kitchen doors, so he didn’t have to see them again, thankfully, but now he was nervous like a fucking kid at confession, and he didn’t know why. Was this shit a mistake? Should he have kept it at family only? Or should he have left it at only certain friends? He kept hemming and hawing over it while sipping his Jameson and casually surveying the door. 

The first to arrive were Franklin and Lamar at 7:42, and he didn’t even make it to the door before he was nearly knocked down by his own daughter with his son sidling up behind her. “Oh my God!” she squealed, and he wanted to feel sorry for Frank’s ears, but when he saw the elated way he was looking down at Tracey...well, maybe the kid’s ears were a bit deaf to it already. “We’re so glad you could make it here!”

“Yeah, this shit’s gonna be lit!” Jimmy chirruped while throwing up a hand to Lamar who caught it and gripped it in return.

“Right right, Jizzle, my man. Now where can the homie find the good shit instead of this fru fru bullshit?” Michael pretended to not notice Lamar spying the high-priced bottles of champagne and wine and reacting in mock disgust. 

“Daddy’s got whiskey in the kitchen!”

As they all passed by him as if he were a figment of their imagination, he called after them, “Hey, at least _try_ to save me some, fuck!” Then under his breath, he mumbled, “Happy fucking New Year.”

The doorbell rang again, and this time it was Lester who looked a little tipsy already as he was being held up by two of the girls from The Vanilla Unicorn whose names escaped him at the moment. They tried to appear as if they weren’t bothered by their task, but it was apparent that they felt more like realistic nurses tonight than just playful, sexy ones. He made a mental note to give a healthy tip to the both of them because it seemed Les had been putting them through their paces already. 

“Michael! It’s so nice to see you! Isn’t it so nice to see him, girls?” He clapped their asses, and both looked at Michael irritably but nodded, and he tried so much to convey that he was sorry, that they would be heavily compensated without letting Lester know that because he didn’t want his old friend to realize he was being a fucking pervert, although it was debatable that Les even cared, but still. 

“Likewise, Les. Amanda and I are glad you could make it. It’s been so long since we’ve done something like this.” 

He went to extend his hand to Lester, but it was pushed aside as Lester peered into the house. “Speaking of which, where is that fox anyway? It’s been forever since I’ve seen her.” His eyes darted all over the place, hoping to catch her somewhere.

“Oh good goddamn -- ladies, will you please escort Lester to the living room and see to his needs please?” And he pulled close to the blonde’s ear -- what the hell was her name, Candy? -- and asked politely, “Will you _please_ keep him the fuck away from my wife?”

“I’ll try but no promises,” she muttered back icily. 

“That’s as good as it gets, I guess,” he sighed heavily and then made his way back toward the door.

This was already starting to look like one huge-ass mistake. Why wasn’t he surprised?

In the past, anything they had tried to do that alluded to normalcy ended ultimately in failure. Lester and alcohol did not mix at all. Nor did Lester and normal people on most days, but with even an ounce of booze in him, well, the problem steadily worsened. So they’d decided long ago that never the two should meet for planning heists. And Lester just wasn’t invited to many parties...only the most special things because Amanda’s tolerance level was only so high. 

Brad was automatically a _big_ no right after their wedding when he’d tried to feel her up in her wedding dress. And that hadn’t come from Amanda. It had taken so many people to pull him off that fucking shitstain to keep from punching him into the ground and ruining his own wedding memories -- although he couldn’t be sure if that would’ve ruined _his_ necessarily, just Amanda’s. 

Moses could be halfway close to normal, but the closer he walked with God, the more he pushed his shit on everyone else, and Michael had enough of that shit in his youth to make him hate himself, so he didn’t need anyone warping the minds of his impressionable children.

Trevor was...Trevor. Things were either the best time of your life or fucking volatile, and you didn’t want to see his face anytime soon. 

He was also Michael’s greatest mistake in so many ways. Beyond now, beyond Ludendorff, beyond so many things. He loved that man in so many ways, he wasn’t even sure of it all, and he was honestly afraid to question it. They were the best of friends, they were closer than brothers that were fed at the same breasts, they were something he didn’t dare whisper in the middle of the nights before Amanda. Sometimes after. And in his dreams for so many years. 

Amanda knew. She wasn’t stupid by any means about her husband’s dalliances, but Trevor had _always_ been so much more than that, and that’s what she hadn’t understood. It wasn’t just some quick fucks. It wasn’t about getting laid. He’d loved Trevor before he ever loved her. He loved them both now, one and the same. Being around him, talking to him rehashed old memories that plagued him and confused him, made him hate himself even more than he thought was possible after Ludendorff was over and done. With Trevor in his life again, he felt more alive than he had in years, but he also felt the same familiar feelings returning, the same old guilt. He was a man. A man with children and a wife. A man born under a religion with no tolerance even if they turned a blind eye to practicing inhouse that which they didn’t tolerate.

Even back in the old days, the only parties that weren’t completely disastrous were the ones that Trevor had known were important to him, so he had helped to salvage them. Anything to do with the kids was always important to Trevor. 

It was only when his guilt began eating him alive, and he started pulling them all away more that Trevor became more and more desperate to see them all. 

Fuck, he felt like shit. Wasn’t he supposed to feel good right now?

Maybe he should set a New Year’s resolution. Could he _even_ stick with one of these fucking things? No, no...he _needed_ to. He wanted to. He wanted his resolution to treat both Mandy and Trevor better because they both deserved _so_ much better than he’d given them sometimes. 

And he made another resolution to treat himself better, to stop being so hard on that ignorant Irish-Italian Catholic boy who’d thought it was his mixed-up feelings about himself which had made his parents abusive assholes. No, they’d done that all on their own. 

At 8:04, his phone buzzed with a text, and his heart dropped into his stomach as he went to check it thinking it was Trevor blowing him off, but when he saw it was from Dave, he released the nervous breath he was holding. Apparently, Dave was feeling under the weather, and he wished everyone well and to stay the hell out of trouble for the next six months, at least. Michael chuckled at that and texted back nothing more than Happy New Year. 

He sighed again though. Still no Trevor. He’d always been the last to show up at every party, usually beyond fucked up already. Well, he wasn’t going to sit down here hanging around like some old turd. Fuck him. He was going to go check on people. 

At least everyone had migrated to the living room to watch the New Year’s specials, thank God. He wasn’t sure how chummy he liked Tracey being with Frank, but it was a special night, and ah fuck it, Frank was a good kid. If it was Lamar, he could’ve had a lot more to worry about. 

Lester was actually docile in the arms of his pretty Unicorn handlers, but one seemed to have at least _some_ knowledge about physical therapy or massage because he looked the most delighted Michael had seen him in years without having to take down someone’s internet empire. 

And Amanda had a bottle of Dom Perignon next to her, no glass, and was taking swigs here and there. Their eyes met mid-swig, and he raised his almost-empty glass, eyes twinkling with a smile. She smirked after wrenching the bottle back between her leg and the armchair. The former king and queen of the trailer park. He still wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He went to freshen his whiskey when his phone went off. “Trevor, I was wondering what the fuck--”

“We won’t be there.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, _don’t cry._ “What?? Why the fuck not?! I told you everything is fine!” 

“Shit happens, OK! This isn’t years ago! I don’t drop every fucking thing going on in my life for you anymore!!”

God, his heart wanted to crawl into his asshole and die. Something was clearly wrong, but Trevor wasn’t going to say. “Oh yeah? Just like you didn’t hunt me down a few months ago or kidnap Madrazo’s wife and keep me out in the goddamn desert or any of the other countless shit -- that _kind_ of not dropping everything for me, you fucking lunatic??”

Everyone was gawking at him from the living room. Amanda was moving toward him, but he didn’t need...couldn’t get her involved. Not in this stupid shit. Not in a rehash of old feelings probably better left dead. Probably where Trevor wanted them anyway.

“Oh, that was _owed_ to you for what you put me through,” Trevor’s bitter voice cracked as if someone had cut a chink in old armor. “I just fucking can’t tonight. I can’t sit around and reminisce and be all sociable. Can’t do that shit.”

He hadn’t even had that much to drink, but the tears came no matter how much he tried to swallow them down and bury them. “You can’t do it for _me?_ You hadn’t thought about what it would mean for me too, to sit around like old times?” 

“Me me _me_ _me me!_ That’s _all_ it ever is with you!”

Before he could shout something similar, Amanda took his phone. “Go sit down and have a drink. I’ll handle this.”

He’d never seen her look so ferocious and so fucking beautiful at the same time. Like a lioness on the prowl. 

As he nursed his Jameson, he heard bits and pieces of Amanda coldly murmuring into the phone, “You get your ass over here….no, I don’t care if the whole of Blaine County comes….Trevor, I don’t give a fuck how you feel, OK, but I know you care about him, and….he’s crying, Trevor, you know he hardly cries.”

She hung up and handed his cell back to him with a cheery grin plastered to her face. “He’ll be here in under thirty.”

He knew he had to be ogling her as if he were some sort of country bumpkin feasting his wide-eyed stare upon the amazing tell-all gypsy, but he just wasn’t sure how the fuck she’d pulled that off. “How…?”

“Oh, you think he came to those parties because _you_ asked?” She snickered softly to herself. “Yeah, for a while, but when it was getting worse, he bailed. He and I couldn’t get along because of differences of, uh, opinions, but I knew how important it was to you for him to be at the kids’ birthdays and there for the holidays, so I sucked it up and called him. Begged, pleaded, and realized in the end that nothing moves that guy faster than to let him know that you’re honestly and truly upset.” Then she cozied up to his ear, blew on it, and whispered, “I guess he fancies those damsels in distress types.”

Michael’s grip on his phone was so hard, he almost shattered it. “Amanda!” he admonished anxiously, peering around her to see if anyone else was paying them any mind. 

She drew in her cheeks and then puffed them out, laughing so hard, she grabbed the counter for purchase to keep from falling backward. He hadn’t seen her like that in such a long time, and he knew it was at his own expense, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. It was such a gorgeous look on her. After a few minutes, her laughter was so infectious, he found himself drawn in with it. 

Eventually, everyone’s attention was back on the TV and getting drunker by the hour, including Michael who’d been the first to break into the Castelforte. He wasn’t doing like his dear wife, but he hadn’t bothered with proper etiquette either and was currently pouring it in his tumbler while sitting outside on the steps, waiting for Trevor to pull in. Perhaps a little too eagerly. 

He was probably already too drunk. He shouldn’t have started with that Jameson. That was some sort of mistake. His heart and dick tended to do the talking when he had too much. And here he was waiting on Trevor...oh God, what the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be a family man, he’d been so good, so good, and now here he was on the edge of something bad again. 

Amanda didn’t deserve him. Fuck, and here she went through all the trouble to trust him by calling Trevor over, and he couldn’t stop thinking about so much shit, so many times. 

Wait...were his memories of those parties also muddled with memories of sex? Not just fucking but long, drawn-out lovemaking? Like the kind after arguing? Did _she_ set that shit up?

Was his wife... _was Amanda a pimp like her fucking mother before her??_

He didn’t know whether to laugh or if he needed to drink more, so he just chose both, and in the midst of doing so, the Bodhi loudly shuttered in. Never had his heart thumped within his chest so hard, he swore the whole damn neighborhood could hear it. 

Ron and Wade wandered up the driveway, looking out of place and as skittish as newborn deer. They were obviously forced to dress better than normal too. He waved his bottle of wine at them and shouted just a tad drunkenly, “Happy New Year, fellas! The party is in the living room. Make yourself at home. No one will bite. Everyone is too drunk to do that by now.”

Ron mumbled something to himself but nodded as he walked past carefully, but at least Wade cheerfully waved back. “I’m just glad to be at your home with no one having to die, Mr. De Santa!”

“Fuckin’ a to that, Wade. Here’s to a better year.”

He kept waiting and waiting. Where the fuck _was_ he? Was he going to have to walk over to the goddamn Bodhi and _remove_ him? He probably wasn’t above doing that right now, if he thought about it. 

Wait -- no...no, this was a lesson. The _whole thing_ was a lesson. He understood it all now. If only he hadn’t been so obliviously thinking about himself. Trevor _was_ right, after all, sonuvabitch. 

He’d made Trevor wait nine long years, left him mourning like a widower, destroyed almost every bit of humanity he’d ever had with what he’d done there in Ludendorff just by making Trevor think he was dead, and Trevor had been content on driving 210mph into brick walls until he finally met up with Michael in the afterlife except there wouldn’t _be_ a Michael there. 

He _did_ owe him so much. He owed him a better year. Better _years_.

Picking himself up off the ground -- and grumbling about the miseries of old age bullshit like stiff joints -- he gingerly made his way over to the Bodhi and clutched the driver side door so he could try to straighten his back and hips out instead of falling over like some old man. Jesus Christ, why had he ever sat down on the steps?

“You tell me. Not exactly a spring chicken there, chief.”

He startled, amazed that Trevor even spoke or was even right there by him in the first place. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up over there or how Trevor had wound up next to him too, but he was glad he was there now and voiced the first thought that came to his head. “Are you reading my mind?”

“Whew! How long have you been partying without me around here? You reek like a distillery! And no, unless I’m mistaken, you said that out loud, asshole.”

He touched at Trevor’s face and tried to pull him closer without really understanding why or that the mechanics of doing that right then weren’t fully possible because of having a damn vehicle in the way. “Trev! Oh God, I’m so happy to see you! I didn’t understand why the fuck you wouldn’t come, but it hit me like a ton of bricks after drinking for a while, and I get the lesson, OK? I’m sorry I made you wait so long. It must’ve been hell.”

Trevor glared hard at his steering wheel and gripped it just as tightly, the knuckles on his hands going ghostly white. “You don’t understand what hell _is_.” 

Michael rested his own hand over Trevor’s left. “You have no idea how much I do know.”

Two boiling amber eyes flicked toward him, and the nose beneath them huffed with nostrils flaring. “You haven’t lost nine years, wondering when it can finally be enough to join the one you love. You never lost out to someone else. You never got to watch the one you love walk away and marry someone else, have kids with someone else, have a fucking life with someone else, and go on and have to pretend you’re nothing more than _just friends!_ ” He made a move to turn the key in the ignition of the Bodhi again. 

He seized Trevor’s hands with fat tears rolling down his cheeks, screaming, “For the love of God, don’t run off again!”

“I don’t love your god!” Trevor snarled back just as angrily in his face.

And those words made something in Michael snap as he slid against the side of the Bodhi onto his knees, sobbing quietly, “Neither do I.” He sat like that for a while, letting years of self-hate and mourning for time and lost love bubble up deep from out of the pits of his soul and unfurl out through his pitiful wails. 

He heard Trevor moving within the vehicle and then heard him clambering over it until he was on the ground beside him, hugging him to his chest. “It’s OK. It’ll be OK, Mikey.”

“How the fuck is it going to be OK?”

Trevor pulled him up effortlessly -- how the hell did he manage to do that, for fuck’s sake -- and dragged him toward the house. “I don’t know, but we’ll drink until we get there.”

Michael snorted, but there was no sarcasm behind it. “Well, I like that plan.”

So that’s what they did. They finished the bottle of Castelforte and started on a bottle of Faustino, imbibing more and more. While everyone was in various states of snoozing or TV watching, they snuck upstairs to the master bedroom with a bottle of Bottega and one of Michael’s special bottles of Jameson. 

“Do you remember our first New Year’s together, Mikey?” Trevor asked after taking a long swig of the Bottega and passing it off. The TV was on as idle chatter in the background. They had barely fifteen minutes to make it to the end of 2013 with all that had carried on throughout the past few hours. 

Michael smiled warmly, thinking back, and chuckled as he nodded. “I do. It was cold as fuck, and we didn’t have any way to heat ourselves. We didn’t even have a way to watch TV. We just had a bottle of Canadian Mist to share, a worn blanket that barely covered both of our asses, and a watch between us to see when it was midnight.” That was such a fond memory: they hadn’t been running together that many months, but he’d already become too accustomed to Trevor’s company, so when his brunette partner had made some corny excuse about how _body heat would save them or they’d die_ but had conveniently failed to mention the part about dicks, he hadn’t beat Trevor to a bloody pulp but instead had blushed and gone with the flow. 

And they had rung in the New Year by not only keeping warm and alive but by forming a different kind of partnership. 

“God, you looked so fucking beautiful above me. Your eyes were so mesmerizing.”

Trevor pushed him playfully back onto the bed. “You’ve always had a fucking hardon for brunettes is what it is.” He sucked on Michael’s lobe and purred hotly into his ear, “Don’t think I didn’t catch you checking out Steve’s ass once or twice before I iced that fucker.”

“Trevor, you morbid prick!” he sniggered until he coughed on his spit.

Hazel eyes regarded him curiously. “But am I right?”

Michael ducked away, “Mmmm, about the brunette thing? Maybe.”

“Well, you were pretty hot shit back in the day too, you know. I mean, we’re both sad sacks of shit now because it’s better to die young and leave a pretty corpse, but I still see flecks of Michael Townley in this new guy.”

He reached up to stroke Trevor’s cheek. “You _do_ understand I’ve never changed, right? It’s just a fucking name change.”

Trevor seemed like he was going to say something but thought better of it and shook his head. “You’ve changed to me. It’s been nine years, Mike.” He sat up and studied the TV on the wall, eyeballing the time. “I fell in love with Michael Townley, and _he_ died. Maybe...maybe it’s best to keep my love for him at rest too.”

It was two minutes to midnight. Something in Michael ached and cried out painfully. It couldn’t end like this. Not now, not when he was finally becoming OK with himself...maybe through baby steps, sure, but he didn’t want to leave it at this. 

He felt like he was on fire and someone was throwing a bucket of icy water on him all at once. 

“Trev, _please_ , I...I know things _have_ changed a little. I know shit is weird, I know I was dead, and now I’m not. I know it’s a ton to process, and you never really got time to fucking process it, OK, but please don’t go. I promise I’m still under here. My heart’s just grown really, really cold, and I need you to warm it up, so just _please_...please warm me up like long ago,” he finished with a whisper, gazing warily at the carpet. He couldn’t bear to let his eyes wander up because he was so damn afraid Trevor would be gone if he did.

He was thrown onto his back as the countdown commenced. 

Hazel eyes bore into his. “Say you love me.” 

“Huh?” he panted weakly as the background continued to shout numbers.

_“Say you love me! Or I’m gone for good!!”_

It’s like he was hearing everything from under the water, and time was moving so slowly at first, but then it sped up, and “I love you!!” erupted from his heart. 

Trevor’s lips crashed into his with everyone shouting “Happy New Year!” from somewhere beyond them, and then Auld Lang Syne began to play as people danced merrily on the TV while Trevor impatiently tore their clothes off with his teeth and hands. He tried to keep up, but he wasn’t sure if age slowed him down, if the alcohol helped, or if Trevor had grown into some sort of sexual beast over time. Truthfully, he preferred that third option as he was fine with just allowing Trevor to do whatever he wanted. 

“Mmmm, Mikey, you have no idea how long I’ve fucking waited for this moment again.” 

He took the whole length of Michael’s cock in his throat, causing him to gasp out loud, before coming back up. “Jesus, Trevor. Probably about as long as I have.” He grasped at whatever bits of hair he could still find and remembered Trevor’s lovely locks of chestnut brown in his youth. “You do realize I couldn’t sleep for years, right? I suffered from depression, dumbass, and yeah, for many reasons, but it’s not easy to just tear yourself away from someone that you’ve loved for so many years.” He moaned as Trevor found a rhythm he liked. “I’m not a heartless bastard contrary to belief.”

Trevor came up for air and wiggled his eyebrows before remarking sarcastically, “Could’ve fooled me,” and then took Michael back into his hot, wet mouth again. 

He tried to shake Trevor off. “Christ, if you don’t stop that, this is gonna be over quickly. I’m not in my fucking twenties anymore, and I don’t smoke that fucking meth.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Fuck no.” He stared longingly into Trevor’s ambery eyes which were almost totally pupil-blown in the light of the room thanks to his high. He knew what he wanted. “Climb on me and make me warm. Just like I said. I want it to be just like starting over.”

“Waxing motherfucking John Lennon on me, Townley?” Trevor growled but started to prepare himself before finally climbing over Michael and sliding slowly onto him, hissing slightly here and there. 

“Fuckin’ a, you know it. You always were the John to my Paul, you crazy, beautiful bastard.” Michael groaned and shivered, himself, not expecting the sensation to be so damn tight. “What the fuck, man. You’re like being with a virgin.”

“Well, my _pretty Paulie_ , it’s because I’ve only let you...well, you know.” Trevor’s face reddened suddenly, and he hid it in the crook of Michael’s neck. 

“Are...are you fucking serious?” He felt Trevor nod against him, and goddamn, there was no need for shit like Viagra with someone stroking your ego like that. He’d never felt so fucking wanted. “That’s fucking hot.” He bucked up into Trevor who let out a delicious whimper and buried himself fully inside, reveling in the feel of him again. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Oh holy fucking shit, all I’ve had back there for a long time are toys, dammit.”

He stroked Trevor’s neck and back, letting him get situated. “How does it feel to have the real thing again, baby?” he cooed into his ear.

The man on top of him moaned into his neck and sighed lovingly. “I’ve fucking missed you so much, Mikey.”

Michael took both of Trevor’s hands in his. “Warm me up, Trev. Make me feel alive.”

He watched as his long-time friend-brother-lover rode him gently and patiently as if they might never see or feel one another again, slowly hugging the sides of his cock as if it were made just for him, and it never ceased to amaze him how two people could _get_ him, frustrate the fuck out of him, or fit him so easily like a glove. Was he blessed to find them or was it a curse to love so many?

And in the middle of their reunited passion, the bed beside them sagged with the weight of one very drunken -- and strangely half-naked -- Amanda. 

The both of them stopped like deer caught in the deadly glow of headlights, and Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Amanda clasped his hand in hers and smiled sweetly at them as she snuggled close. 

“Just be happy, Michael,” she murmured inebriatedly. “That’s all we want.”

He pulled her to him, kissed her forehead, and then did the same to Trevor who still looked like he was trying to figure out if he was in the wrong house or in the middle of some sort of dream. “Happy New Year,” he choked out contentedly. 

And when dawn spread its golden beams over Rockford Hills, 2014 found the three of them sleeping soundly together, wrapped up in one another, with carefree smiles on their faces for the first time in years.


End file.
